


Greatest Hits

by thefarofixer



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Established Relationship, FBI Agent Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Minor Canon character death, mild homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 08:31:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12602516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefarofixer/pseuds/thefarofixer
Summary: “You’re sure she said to bring me along?” Derek asks, and Stiles doesn’t know whether to coo or tease Derek about how nervous he is about this, a dinner with his boss, when Derek has faced down some of the most unimaginably terrifying and violent things on the planet. Hell, Derek wasn’t this nervous when he was officially meeting Stiles’ dad as his boyfriend for the first time. And Stiles’ dad knows way more terrible things about Derek than his boss does.“She told me to bring ‘whoever it was that made me stare at my phone with that dumb look on my face’ so yeah I’m pretty sure that means you,” Stiles says.(a 5+1 fic, I somehow don't think I've ever written one before? a trope classic!)





	Greatest Hits

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this originally for the Solstice Zine but it ended up being too long, so I went with something else for that. But I figured, why let it languish in googledocs. So here we go.

1.

Stiles knows for a fact that if he hadn’t been the one to help his boss one-up her work nemesis in a way that lead her to become an Assistant Director at the FBI first that there was no way that she’d be nearly as indulgent or patient with Stiles as she is. As things stand, even with that caveat, they still have something of a love-hate relationship. Which is as it should be, Stiles thinks. He knows he can be trying at the best of times, and even the people in his life who love him unconditionally still want to throttle him occasionally. He tells himself it’s healthy to have some people around who won’t take his shit when he starts to stray a little too far in the wrong direction. He needs to be given a little leeway in order to function at his best of course, but given too much....well, god help him and everyone around him. 

Which brings him back to his boss. AD Savoia appreciates people who are good at what they do, and if nothing else, Stiles is very, very good at looking at violent, bloody puzzles, finding the pieces that don’t fit and exploiting them in a way that the FBI can use to build a case. She’ll give him semi-public dressing downs when she needs to politically cover herself when he bends the rules in a way that ruffles feathers, and more private dressing downs when he genuinely goes too far, but she still lets him do what he needs to do to solve cases. He knows she appreciates him professionally, but he’s still a little surprised when after a couple years under her direct supervision she invites him to her house for dinner, along with several other more senior agents she’s been working with for a long time. His boss may appreciate him, but that professional affinity definitely doesn’t extend to some of the other agents and the other AD’s at the FBI who tend to describe him as ‘intense’ at best, and ‘a fucking psychopath’ at worst. So the fact that she’s inviting him into her home for a social occasion that isn’t a professional requirement is notable. 

“You’re sure she said to bring me along?” Derek asks, and Stiles doesn’t know whether to coo or tease Derek about how nervous he is about this, a dinner with his boss, when Derek has faced down some of the most unimaginably terrifying and violent things on the planet. Hell, Derek wasn’t this nervous when he was officially meeting Stiles’ dad as his boyfriend for the first time. And Stiles’ dad knows way more terrible things about Derek than his boss does. 

“She told me to bring ‘whoever it was that made me stare at my phone with that dumb look on my face’ so yeah I’m pretty sure that means you,” Stiles says. He resists the urge to take Derek’s hand as they walk up to the house. It’s not that he doesn’t want to offend anyone with public displays of gay affection (if anyone says anything homophobic, he will give Derek a lap dance right then and there, so help him god), but the FBI isn’t exactly the most emotionally open place so until he gets the lay of the land with this dinner he thinks professional is the best approach. 

“Dude, you don’t have to be nervous, you’re great at charming people when you want to, I mean my dad loves you,” Stiles says. 

“Yeah but your dad will love you no matter what,” Derek points out. “But if I make a bad enough impression on your boss, that could affect your career.” 

“Aww, that’s so sweet,” Stiles says, and he lets himself give Derek a quick kiss on the cheek before ringing the doorbell. “Truly it’s adorable that you think you could possible make an impression worse than all the ones I’ve already made.” 

“I suppose you’re not entirely wrong about that,” Derek says, grinning. Stiles elbows him, and then tries to straighten out his face as the door swings open. 

“Stilinski, you made it,” Savoia says, and she even looks like she’s genuinely pleased to see him. Her eyes widen faintly as she sees Derek standing beside him, but she’s professional enough not to react otherwise. Stiles is willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, because after all she’d already known who Stiles was in a relationship with and never said anything to indicate she’d care. Stiles guesses seeing Derek’s beauty up close and personal is nothing to scoff at. God only knows he himself was blown away by it the first time they met. And well, every time after that too. 

Stiles is the only one at the dinner who isn’t married, but then again he’s also the youngest one there by about ten years. He’s also the only one with a same sex partner, although all the sensitivity training at the Bureau must be working in some way because aside from a couple subtle double-takes when they walk in the door, nobody comments on it. Conversations are a little stilted at first, as everyone tries to skirt around falling into too much bloody FBI shop talk, although thankfully Derek has always been good at sounding knowledgeable and interested in just about anything, deftly stepping in whenever it seems like Stiles’ sarcastic nature might get the better of him. Nobody even asks Stiles and Derek anything personal until they’re all sitting down at the dinner table, very adult glasses of wine all around. 

“And Derek, what do you do?” asks Cindy, wife of Ted, one of the agents who mostly views Stiles with grudging respect, thankfully. Cindy works for a political think tank on K Street, and Stiles thinks she’s probably even sharper than her husband. She’s been looking at Derek with shark-like interest all night, and Stiles thinks she might be looking to snipe him professionally, so he’s not surprised when she asks. 

“I’m a conflict mediator,” Derek says smoothly, and thank god, Stiles thinks. Usually Derek just vaguely says he’s a ‘consultant’ with no real follow-up when asked, and considering the circumstances of how Stiles’ boss thinks Derek and Stiles met met, he’s pretty sure the room might misinterpret ‘consultant’ as ‘hitman’ or ‘cleaner’, and god knows it was hard enough to get the FBI’s suspicion to lift off Derek the first time. The last thing they need is any further scrutiny. 

“He’s really good at it,” Stiles says, and he lets some of his natural enthusiasm for Derek and everything he does shine through a little. “You know, uh, business rivalries, ugly divorce proceedings, that kind of thing. He can talk anyone down.” It’s even true, if you give those things a supernatural twist, Stiles thinks. Derek has come a long way from the days where he’d thought he had to face every conflict with violence. Of course it helps when the situations involve other people’s conflicts, and aren’t just people who have specifically set out to kill Derek personally. 

“You ever think of going into hostage negotiation?” Savoia asks consideringly. 

“No,” Stiles says, before Derek can reply. The last thing they need is to put Derek in _more_ tenuously dangerous situations. Bad enough he’s still dealing with angry werewolf packs. 

“I like the work I do now,” Derek says, rolling his eyes at Stiles and speaking for himself a bit more diplomatically. “As a freelancer I can control the kind of work I do and where and when. Which is good when Stiles’ job is so variable, depending on the case he’s on.” 

“How long have the two of you been together?” Cindy asks, apparently seeing the opportunity for a new hire slip through her fingers and instead going for the gossip. 

“Almost eight years,” Derek says, casually reaching over and takes Stiles’ hand. Stiles hides his pleased blush in his wine glass. 

“Oh wow, so you knew each other before Stilinski joined the Bureau?” Anderson, an older agent who usually is pretty dismissive of Stiles. The others are beginning to look interested as well. Stiles glances at Savoia who has a smug look on her face. Stiles wonders if he was invited just so she could spread the juicy gossip around of how Stiles met his boyfriend, or at least the story that she knew about. There are worse things to be known for, Stiles thinks, gearing up to tell the story. It may not be how they met each other in the first place, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a true story, or a meaningful one when it comes to their relationship. 

“Kind of,” Stiles says. “The FBI is actually sort of how we met, but it was well before I was an agent. I was eighteen years old and doing the Advanced Internship Program.” 

“I was was hired to mediate a conflict between what I thought were two simple business rivals,” Derek says, picking up the story they’d agreed on, all those years ago when Stiles had dragged Derek out of a warehouse under the scrutiny of the FBI. It had seemed like a good idea at the time to pretend they didn’t know each other (after all, they never would have let Stiles onto that task for if they thought he had a personal stake in the case), but of course now it’s the official story of how they met. It can be strange telling it like it was just some random happenstance, and not part of a larger, longer, more important history. “What I didn’t know was that they were rival arms dealers. Also unknown to me was the fact that people had already gotten killed in this conflict, and the FBI had put me under surveillance, thinking that I was the one responsible.” 

“So how did you meet though, if Stiles was just an intern back at Quantico,” Ted asks. 

“They had shown us the evidence against Derek, as an example of current open cases and how they were approaching them,” Stiles says. “The whole case seemed off to me though. I became obsessed with it. I got my hands on all the information I could, and kept bugging our supervising Agent until they let me make a case for an alternate scenario based on a new profile I’d made to the task force.” 

“He was so convincing about it, they even let Stilinski go with them when they raided the warehouse they thought Derek was holed up at that turned out to be the base of operations of a multi-national weapons dealer,” Savoia says, taking a smug sip of wine. She likes to take credit for Stiles’ successes even before she became his boss. “They told him to wait in the car. You can all imagine how that went.” 

“You crashed an FBI raid of a weapons dealer’s warehouse,” Anderson says incredulously. 

“He went in unarmed,” Derek grumps, although the look he shoots at Stiles is nothing but fondness. 

“They might have listened to me that this wasn’t just a single mass murderer killing people they were after, but nobody believed that Derek was a hostage and not part of the criminal conspiracy,” Stiles says. “I wanted to make sure an innocent bystander wasn’t killed.” 

“He got shot in the foot,” Derek says. “I had to carry him out myself.” 

“Only after I cut him loose from where he was chained up to a water pipe,” Stiles points out. “It was mutual rescuing.” 

“Anyways we didn’t get together right away after that,” Derek says. “But we hit it off and kept in touch, and then when Stiles moved to DC permanently, first for school, then when he joined the Bureau, well things just worked out.” 

“That is so sweet,” Cindy says. “And crazy. But sweet.” 

“Oh yeah?” Stiles asks, taking a sip of wine, and not even grimacing at the taste. He is such an adult now. “How did you and Ted meet?” 

“Match.com,” Ted says. 

The table cracks up. 

2\. 

“So how did the two of you meet?” the woman behind the counter asks, breaking the silence. Stiles looks up from the paperwork he’s filling out, and glances over to see Derek raise an eyebrow then tilt his head. He’s letting Stiles take this one then. He usually does, if only because half the time he then likes to break in partway through the story so he can sarcastically contradict whatever it is Stiles is saying. God Stiles loves him. 

“We uh, grew up in the same town,” Stiles says. Derek’s eyebrow rises higher, and Stiles can’t help but shrug. The clerk has been nice to them, so he feels like she deserves some form of the truth, and he doesn’t feel like being an asshole about it for once. Not today. 

“High School sweethearts?” the clerk prompts. 

“No,” Derek says, barking out a surprised laugh. Then he plasters on his most charming grin, although Stiles thinks it looks a lot more genuine than usual. He leans in like he’s about to tell a secret, and enrapt, the clerk leans forward too, their good mood infectious. “Actually we couldn’t stand each other at first.” 

“Oh one of _those_ relationships,” the woman says knowingly. 

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees. He’s grinning to match Derek now, can’t seem to stop, and now they’re both smiling like idiots. The clerk doesn’t seem to notice, but Stiles supposes in her job she’s used to it. He thinks that this isn’t at all what he’d ever imagined in his future, and yet he wouldn’t trade it for anything else in the world. 

“You’ll need a witness,” the clerk says, as they hand over the finished paperwork. “I know it has two slots for witness signatures but legally you only need one in the state of California.” 

“Yeah my dad is on his way, he got delayed,” Stiles says. “He’s the Sheriff, you know, and there’s always something.” 

“Do you have any other family coming?” the clerk asks. 

“No,” Derek says. “I have a sister but...she lives far away. I think she’d come if I asked but once we’d made up our minds, we didn’t want to wait.” 

“I understand,” the clerk says. “Sometimes the timing for these things is just right.” 

“Yeah,” Derek says. He meets Stiles’ eyes and they get lost for a minute, until the clerk clears her throat. 

“Big honeymoon plans?” the clerk asks. 

“We just bought a house recently,” Stiles says. “But I was, uh, injured on the job so we haven’t really had time to settle in. I have some enforced paid leave for a while though, so we’re just going to stay home for a while. Enjoy the peace.” 

“Yeah we have some plans for that house,” Derek says, and Stiles blushes at his tone. There’s a gleam in Derek’s eye that reminds Stiles of how he’d been complaining about how many rooms they haven’t christened yet. 

“Well I think that sounds lovely,” the clerk says, although a quick glance says Derek and Stiles weren’t being subtle about their plans because she’s blushing too. “Well congratulations, you must be very excited to be getting married.” 

“Yeah,” Stiles says. He thinks about everything it took to get them here, and briefly marvels at the fact that they get to do this, that they survived to do this. From the look on Derek’s face he’s thinking the same thing. Stiles kisses him, not even caring about the audience. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” Derek says. “C’mon let’s do this.” 

3\. 

“Well?” 

Stiles resists the urge to growl at the fingers snapping in his face. You don’t spend as much time with werewolves for as long as he has without picking up a few habits from them, although he tries not to let himself do that kind of thing while working. 

“What?” Stiles snaps, turning away from the rows of evidence he has neatly tacked up on the wall. 

“Your phone keeps buzzing,” Detective Dickface #1 says, stating the obvious. “I was just saying your wife nags even more than mine does. What’d you do to piss her off?” 

“Husband,” Stiles corrects. 

“Husband?” the detective echoes, exchanging a look with his partner. And Stiles _knows_ that look. They won’t say anything to his face because he outranks them and he’s already won the jurisdictional pissing match so they must know they can’t afford to get slapped with a discrimination suit on top of that, but still. He knows the tone of their voices, knows the expression on their faces well enough to know what the two of them are thinking right now. 

“Yeah,” Stiles says, fully turning around this time. There are things on this planet that he’s afraid of, but guys like this aren’t one of them. “Husband.” 

“How, uh did you two meet. One of those uhhh online hook-up app things?” Detective Dickface #2 asks, smirking. 

“Actually, he buried the top half of a dead body in the ground next to the burned down remains of the house he was living in,” Stiles says. “I dug it up. And then accused him of murder. We met in the back of a cop car. Real meet-cute.” 

“Haha, very funny,” Detective Dickface #1 says, elbowing his partner. But Stiles lets the silence after that drag on a little, meeting each of their eyes and letting himself bare his teeth a little in the guise of a smile. He knows what he looks like with this expression on his face, and sometimes, he thinks, it’s okay to let the wolf out a little. 

“Holy shit,” DD #2 murmurs. Stiles turns back to the wall full of pictures and papers, dismissing them. 

“You know if you two are gonna spend the afternoon gossiping I’ve got like a room full of financial records somebody needs to go through,” Stiles says without looking back. They leave him alone after that. 

4\. 

The trouble with living in Washington DC is that at some point or another you will inevitably find yourself at some kind of political _event_ , no matter how much you try to stay out of politics. The third time it happens, it’s not even Stiles’ fault, it’s _Derek_ , who had recently done some translation/slash/negotiation work for the Capitol’s most powerful Alpha. Unfortunately one of the things that Derek and Stiles have both been discovering the further along they get into adulthood is that the better you are at your job, the more you get roped into shit you don’t want to go to. 

This time it’s a _gala_ of all things. A fucking GALA. Stiles has only seen that kind of thing on television, and now that he’s at one he’s really wishing that had been the extent of his exposure. 

Stiles hadn’t had time to grab dinner between work and the stupid gala, and there was only one tray of good hors d’oeuvres at the thing and everything Stiles has tried since finishing off its meagre portions has been _terrible_. All they have is wine and Stiles just knows it’s going to give him a headache because there’s no way he’s getting through this completely sober. There’s people everywhere and literally everyone looks like some kind of old money Stepford nightmare, and honestly the only good thing about the entire night is how good Derek looks in his suit. Although if the looks Derek has been giving him all night, and the possessive hand that keeps settling either just above the swell of his ass or tightly gripping the back of his neck are any indication, Stiles doesn’t look half bad himself tonight. He takes a moment to be grateful that Hale money can buy him suits his FBI salary never could. 

“How much longer do we have to stay,” Stiles murmurs quietly into his glass, knowing Derek can hear it anyway. 

“Longer than I’d like,” Derek murmurs into Stiles’ ear, making Stiles shiver. “But probably less time than is strictly polite.” 

“You must be Mr. Hale,” a voice says from behind them. Derek and Stiles turn to find a man in his sixties standing behind them. He reeks of old money and Stiles doesn’t like the look he’s giving them. Although then again Stiles is generally not super inclined to like people in general. 

“Mr. Sinclair,” Derek says. He’s holding his wine glass in his left hand and drapes his right arm possessively around Stiles’ waist. He doesn’t offer to shake the man’s hand. Ah, a werewolf, then. “Alpha Rinaldi told me you might be here tonight.” 

“Warned you more like,” Sinclair says. Derek tips his wine glass slightly in acknowledgement. “And she warned me about your...unconventional choice of mate. Even so, I must admit I wasn’t anticipating someone so...young.” 

“Well I’m old enough to be a special agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” Stiles says, as Derek gently clinks his wedding ring against his wine glass. “I’m sorry, what is it you do again?” 

“An agent,” Sinclair says, ignoring Stiles’ question. “I have to say, having a fed in your pack _could_ be an advantage, however did you manage that. I’m very curious about how the two of you met. There are so many rumors flying around, it’s hard to know what to believe. Half of it sounds more like myth than reality.” 

“We met on sugardaddy.com,” Stiles says, staring the man in the eye and wishing for some kind of phallic hors d’oeuvre to deepthroat while doing so. He hears Derek sigh deeply next to him, then feels Derek’s hand close around the back of his neck and squeeze sightly. He smirks because honestly Derek couldn’t have made it seem more like confirmation if he’d tried. 

“Excuse me, we really must be going,” Derek says. He nods at Sinclair’s astonished expression and guides Stiles away. 

“What a prick,” Stiles mutters to Derek as Derek ushers him towards the door. 

“You know he can still hear you,” Derek says, although he looks relieved to have an excuse to leave. 

“Good,” Stiles says. 

5\. 

“How _did_ the two of you meet?” Cora asks one day. “I know it was after Laura died but I never got the full story.” 

“He was trespassing,” Derek says. “I yelled at him.” 

“Scott dropped his inhaler in the woods when Peter bit him,” Stiles explains. “Those things are expensive so we went looking for it. We didn’t realize that part of the woods was Hale territory, and we also didn’t realize that there were any Hales around to care. But yeah Derek pretty much yelled at us to get off his lawn like some kind of old man.” 

“Sounds like Derek,” Cora agrees. Derek rolls his eyes. Stiles kisses him. 

+1 

Derek is sixteen. He’s sixteen and his eyes are blue, and they _hurt_ and his mom says that it’s just in his head, and he can’t even scoff at what a bad joke that is, because she’s not joking. Nobody in his family makes jokes around him anymore, and they shouldn’t. He doesn’t deserve jokes. He deserves the pain in his eyes, whether it’s real or not. He deserves much worse. 

He goes to school and tries to pretend everything is fine, but he spends his days clenching his fists so his hands don’t shake and his claws don’t pop. He’s terrified that _everyone knows_ , and then he’s angry that they _don’t_ know. Paige is dead. And it’s all his fault. She never would’ve been out that night if it wasn’t because of him, never would’ve gotten bitten by that strange Alpha who had wandered into their territory in the first place. And at the time, putting her out of her misery had seemed like the only option, she’d been dying they both _knew_ that. She was dying and she was in pain and it was only getting worse, it was tearing her apart from the inside out, and she asked, she _asked_ him, begged him to do it. 

But now he can’t stop the insidious thought that what if she _wasn’t_ dying. What if she would have gotten better if he hadn’t…if he hadn’t… 

But his mother, his _Alpha_ had ordered him to tell no one about what happened. It would put him in danger, put the pack in danger, and the last thing he wants is to bring down more trouble on his family. So he keeps it to himself, goes to school and tries to act like nothing’s wrong, because after all nobody had known about him and Paige. Not until his mother found him that night. Blue eyes and covered in blood. 

He’s started distancing himself from his friends at school. There was a certain amount of space between them since they could never know what he considers the most important thing about himself, but it grows now and he lets it. He feels impatient with their petty teenage concerns, homework and basketball and parties. He knows he’s still young but he feels like he’s twice their age now. Like he’d accidentally become an adult in the course of a night, and he doesn’t know how to go back. 

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t pull out of the parking lot right away, one day when his mom asks him to pick Cora up after band practice after school. Cora is impatient to go home. She’s been avoiding him, young enough not to understand why Derek has been acting the way he has lately, but Talia has still been making Derek pick her up, in an effort to act like everything’s normal, Derek thinks. 

He almost does leave, but he can hear someone crying above the rattle of the car’s engine and the distant screeching of kids playing some kind of sport on the other side of the school and it makes him pause. 

“Come on, Derek,” Cora says impatiently. 

“Just a second,” Derek says. He waits, but the crying continues and Derek doesn’t hear anyone comforting them. “I’ll be right back, stay here.” 

“Where else would I go,” Cora huffs, but Derek ignores her, getting out of the car and walking until he finds the source of the crying. 

It’s a kid, a boy about Cora’s age. He’s tucked behind one of the bushes lining the sidewalk in front of the school, and he flinches away when Derek steps around it in front of him. The kid hastily rubs at his eyes and his nose with his sleeve, trying to look composed. His face is blotchy, red and white and even if Derek couldn’t smell the salt of tears on him, there’s no way he could’ve missed the kid had been crying. 

“Are you okay?” Derek asks. He almost winces, knowing how much he’s hated hearing that question from people lately. 

“Fine,” the kid says defensively. Fair enough, Derek thinks. 

“Just get out of band practice?” Derek asks, sitting next to him. 

“No,” the kid huffs. “My dad was supposed to pick me up after school so I could go visit my mom, but I think he forgot.” 

“Your mom lives somewhere else?” Derek asks. The kid’s eyes well up again and Derek immediately regrets asking. 

“Kind of,” the kid says quietly. 

Humans, Derek thinks, are so fragile. 

“Did you try calling him?” Derek asks. The kid just shrugs, looking away which Derek takes as a ‘no’. He’s about to suggest they go to the office to see if they can call someone when Derek hears the screech of tires pulling into the parking lot. He glances around the bushes to see a cop car pulling up, and thinks that this is probably an adult more equipped to handle this than he is. 

“Hey, come on,” Derek says. He takes the kid’s hand and gently pulls him up, guiding him down the sidewalk. To his surprise the deputy who gets out of the car sighs in relief when he sees the kid walking next to Derek. 

“I am so, so sorry, kiddo,” the deputy says, walking over and taking the kid’s bag. He glances at Derek briefly. “Thank you for waiting with him.” 

“No problem,” Derek says. He wonders if he should say something about the man forgetting about his kid, but it’s a cop and Talia has been stressing to him, lately especially, the importance of not drawing attention to himself. 

“You okay?” the deputy asks the kid as he brings him over to the car, opening the passenger side door and ushering him in. 

“Visitor’s hours at the hospital will be over soon,” is all the kid says. 

“I think they’ll make an exception for me, come on,” the deputy says. He gets into the car with one last wave at Derek before speeding away. 

“Can we go home now?” Cora shouts from the window of their car. 

“Sure,” Derek says. They drive home in silence and Derek puts the crying kid out of his mind. It’s not his problem, he thinks. It’s just some human and he’s got bigger things to worry about. They’ll probably never see each other again anyways.


End file.
